Forever And A Bit
by DustInTheLight
Summary: Victorian Fantasy AU - Two dueling kingdoms collide, and peacekeeper Aziraphale leaves to ambassador for the Light, where he discovers a particular fascination with war general Crowley... however, the war threatens to tear their budding romance apart by the seams. (Lyrics from the Mother Mother song)
1. Enthralled

Aziraphale didn't have much imagination to speak of.

In the Light, the eastern kingdom in the country of Eden, children weren't raised to create. They were raised to appreciate what already _was_, to covet what they cherished and spread harmony wherever they could. Harsh words weren't a part of their culture, unhappiness weren't a part of life. Their world was one of cleanliness, prosperity, and unity. Imagination simply wasn't required in paradise, where each individual strived to fulfil their ultimate goal of completing the collective and bettering the world around them.

The world was simple enough to require no conceited effort in pretending to better it. It was that simple.

There was no need for imagination in a world where everyone had everything they needed and nobody wanted for anything... or, at least, that was what Aziraphale had thought up until the annual Grand Ball.

For six generations, the Light and Dark, kingdoms very much at odds who had never known anything other than being at odds, had arranged an elegant masquerade ball in alternating kingdoms in an attempt to appease any growing tensions and put off any thoughts of war. Nothing relaxed a riled, feral beast more than kindness handed over from a firm fist, and the Dark was the most feral of beasts at the best of times. It was a rather beautiful affair, Aziraphale thought.

He'd never been allowed to attend a ball in the Dark, of course. He was a mere peacekeeper stationed in the palace, good for solving minor squabbles but with largely very little to do. It was a quaint task, but one Aziraphale felt he must be very well suited for, since there were very rarely any arguments to be heard in the entire kingdom - at least, that he knew of.

In fact, this was the first year that he'd been allowed to attend in any real manner. He'd previously been stationed around the doors, outside the main ball, left listening to the elegant music drifting from the enormous ballroom. It was far more likely to have to solve an argument on a night where two opposing sides of a feud were forced to meet, especially when alcohol was involved, after all.

This year was different. For the first time, perhaps as a commendation for a particularly quiet year, Aziraphale had been presented with a white, gold-trimmed suit and permitted an entry pass to the festivities. He'd hardly been able to contain his glee, although he'd kept his composure until he was alone in his quarters again. Of course he'd never speak of how he'd practically screamed into his pillow when he _was_ alone.

For the first time, as he took in the room full of swirling couples - the Light in their traditional white-and-gold robes and shimmering veils, and the fascinating Dark in their deep, richly coloured outfits and shadowy, masked faces - Aziraphale had his breath stolen from his lungs.

It wasn't the music, the champagne, not even the delightful tiny bites of food swung delicately around the room every so now and then, although they were truly divine in their own right. No, something quite different had taken Aziraphale's fancy, and it was almost enough to make him politely decline an offer of a tiny speared shrimp glazed with brandy. (_Almost)._

It was the shadowy stranger lingering on the far side of the room that had really captivated him. The figure was of the dark Dark, that much was clear. He'd donned deep, rich red robes and an intricate fox mask, although for some reason Aziraphale couldn't quite place, he didn't feel like a fox quite suited him. He did not dance with anyone, nor did he move to take any drink or food from any of the passing waiters. Instead, he simply stood by the wall - well, _lounged_ almost seemed more accurate, with the way he held himself. His hands hung loosely in his pockets and his head stayed lowered, although just raised enough to keep an eye on the ongoings of the party.

Aziraphale battled with himself. Some tiny voice in his mind whispered for him to report this, knowing that one of the Dark was refusing to partake in any festivities and instead wait and watch - something which was almost definitely suspicious. However, he found the majority of his will tugging him towards the stranger, begging him to know more, to find out as much as he could. He was almost _starving_ to know the loner's name.

_Well_, he reasoned with himself. _I _am_ a peacekeeper. If he _is_ looking to cause trouble and I diffuse him from doing so... I'd surely just be doing my job? And I _did_ receive an invite to this event, after all..._

He found his feet carrying him across the room. He tried to stay close to the edge, although he found the dancing couples proved difficult to avoid and he ended up simply pushing through the crowd, of course with a sleuth of apologies and polite greetings to go along with his rude passing.

The stranger stayed still and silent, the fox mask preventing Aziraphale from knowing where he was looking. He didn't move when Aziraphale walked up to him and politely bowed, extending a hand.

"Pardon me, sir," he smiled. "But would you care to dance?"

The stranger said nothing, instead tilting his head to the side somewhat. His hair was a brilliant russet colour, bound back in a delicate bun and falling in waves down his back. It shifted as he moved. It was _captivating_.

The silence lingered for a moment longer, before he finally lifted a hand and took Aziraphale's.

"Very well," came his voice, and it almost made Aziraphale lose his balance altogether. His voice was deep and melodic, almost amused, and yet carrying the sincerity of a million generations. His hand was gloved, the velvet warm and comforting against Aziraphale's chilled palm. _At least, he desperately hoped it was chilled, although he knew it was far more likely to be clammy with nervous sweat..._

If the stranger noticed his damp palms, he said nothing about it. Aziraphale led him into the dancefloor and waited a few moments for the song to end and another to begin. He placed his hand on the stranger's waist, finding him a little too tall to comfortably rest his hand on his shoulder. The stranger politely rested his hand on his shoulder in turn, and let Aziraphale take the lead in this new waltz.

They moved somewhat clumsily for a moment while they got used to each other's rhythms. Aziraphale apologised profusely when he trod on his partner's toes quite by accident, and his stranger responded with a deep, throaty chuckle which immediately put both parties at ease. They moved more gracefully as the dance progressed, learning the length of the other's strides and finding a comfortable middle ground. They spun in circles together, their chests pressed close enough to thrill. The song finished in time but the pair kept dancing, adjusting their tempo as the next began.

The entire time, Aziraphale couldn't keep his eyes off of his partner's masked face. The fox was covered with velvet as well, and adorned with beautiful lace patterns and tiny gemstones. What captivated him most, however, was the eyes peering out through the delicately shaped holes in the mask - they were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Deep amber, almost glowing in the shadow behind the mask, they were hesitant and youthful, heavy-lidded and almost serpentine.

His jaw was sharp and slender, well-framed by those beautiful russet curls, now slightly displaced and a little messy after they'd been twirling for a while. He was angular and yet graceful, dipping to and fro with the music and swaying his hips with ease. He moved with easy sophistication, and all the while, his eyes never left Aziraphale's, either.

It was easy to lose track of the time. Aziraphale abandoned any thought of picking at any more tiny-yet-delightful pieces of food or sipping at any more glasses of champagne, completely giving in to the allure of those eyes. They were deeper than the sea, the colour of honey, and _blast it all_ they wouldn't look away.

The room around them blurred as they spun. Hanging bouquets of roses and hanging chandeliers became nothing but smudged colour fading away into the background, and even the other couples surrounding them grew faded. Their dance belonged to them alone, and Aziraphale wouldn't complain if it lasted until the next sunrise.

* * *

As it was, their dance lasted almost an hour. They eventually slowed to a gentle halt, and Aziraphale shyly dropped his hand. He found he wasn't quite ready to finish his time with this stranger, however.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked breathlessly, ignoring the shooting pains in his feet. In fact, both of his legs were protesting at their overuse, but he found he couldn't quite find the willpower within him to care. The stranger smiled beneath his mask and nodded.

"That sounds nice. Is there a garden I'd be welcome in?"

Of course, the Dark's access to the Light was limited. There were rooms they'd been barred from, tunnels they'd been forbidden from using... it was all standard protocol and most certainly necessary to keep the peace.

"Y-yes, of course!" Aziraphale nodded, taking a moment to scour his brain to remember exactly where the Dark had been permitted to wander. "This way..."

His dancing partner followed him, his movements suave and calm. His hands folded right back into his pockets and he moved with a gentle, calm smile on his face. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was all but short of short-circuiting, but he led him through corridors, down stairs, and out to the main gardens overlooking the town.

The night was cool yet not unpleasant, with stars glimmering and a fine crescent moon hanging in the sky. The town glowed a gentle gold, marble streets shining as they perfectly reflected the starlight. The only sound to be heard was the soft rushing of water at the garden fountains and the quiet remnants of music floating down to the gardens from the ballroom above.

A nightingale flitted onto a tree near the pair and chirped in greeting.

"Ahh, I remember this..." the stranger sighed happily. Aziraphale looked at him in surprise.

"You've been here before?"

"Of course," his stranger winked playfully. "I know a lot about this place. Used to- well."

Aziraphale cocked his head curiously.

"Used to?"

"Nevermind, please."

Disappointment swelled in Aziraphale's chest, but he didn't want to press the matter. He'd had a delightful evening and didn't want to spoil it by offending his stranger. He blushed as he realised he hadn't introduced himself yet.

"I... I'm Aziraphale, by the way. I work here."

"Crowley," his stranger chuckled, offering his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Aziraphale wrapped his hand around Crowley's once more, shaking it with a soft grin. He did his best to hide how perfectly he felt the name suited this dark stranger.

A chilly breeze swept through the garden, making Aziraphale shiver. Crowley watched him, unaffected by the chill but looking almost curiously down at his dancing partner.

"You look tired," he commented, and only then did Aziraphale realise how true that was. His legs were still crying, pain shooting up from his feet with every step, and his eyelids felt heavy.

"It's been a long night," he admitted. "Although a very pleasant one."

Crowley said nothing to that, merely looking back over the town with his calm smile stretching back over his face. The nightingale sang once more, before it took off, flying down over towards town.

"You'll be heading off tomorrow, then?" Aziraphale asked, regretting it as he realised how it had sounded. It was simply one of many occasions where he wished he could shove his own words back into his mouth.

"Want rid of me so soon?" Crowley asked, his voice thick with a teasing drawl. Aziraphale stammered and blushed, clearly trying to formulate a polite response, but Crowley just laughed it off and shook his head.

"Don't worry, angel. You'll see more of me. I'm sure of it."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So, this was random? The idea for this fic popped into my mind whilst reading "with all your delights" by weatheredlaw on Archive of Our Own! I highly recommend giving it a read - it's highly enjoyable and I couldn't get the idea of a victorian fantasy AU out of my head! And lo, this story was born. Who knows if I'll finish it, really, but I enjoyed writing this chapter! I have a whole plot planned out for it and everything but knowing me I might lose inspiration because I'm just one of those folks I guess. Here's to hoping I finish something!

I also listened to the entire Pan's Labyrinth soundtrack while writing this because oops?

I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts on this. Thank you for reading :)


	2. Opportunity

Aziraphale might not have had any imagination to speak of before he met Crowley, but that changed very quickly the second his burning curls disappeared from sight.

"He," Aziraphale mumbled to himself. "He called me angel."

He didn't get any sleep that night.

He lay awake, tossing and turning, staring at the canopy top of his four-poster bed, which was just as white as everything else in the Light. He found himself missing the rustic, deeply saturated colours of the Dark. He missed their elegant masks with their finely sculpted features, although he couldn't deny that he was bitter at how the fox mask had covered almost all of Crowley's face. He'd wanted to commit his face to memory, learn every fascinating crevice, bring it back on rainy days when he needed something to keep his spirits up.

Lord knows his spirits had never been higher than in the throes of their dance.

Aziraphale, for the first time, found himself imagining. He pictured taking Crowley through the finer gardens, more secret spots, perhaps even running off to spend evenings showing him the loveliest places in the Light to watch the sunrise. Eden had such beautiful mornings. He found himself imagining what the Dark's sunsets must be like, on the western coast of Eden. It must paint the sky so many beautiful colours to match their attire.

He found himself imagining dining with Crowley. He'd ask him everything, learn everything he could, keep it all in his mind as if it were a vault. This stranger was fascinating and Aziraphale couldn't get enough. He stayed awake until it was time for him to get to work - or rather, his lack thereof.

Throughout the day, as bland and meaningless as always, he found himself wishing he could speak to his friend again - _gosh, could I already call him a friend?_

He found that he could.

The visitors from the Dark had left early that morning, before Aziraphale's shift had begun, so he saw no sign of any of their guests, something which put unusual pain into his heart. While he knew that fraternising with the Dark would come across as suspicious and he would likely have gotten more than just a slap on the wrist as a punishment for it, he found that he desperately wanted to see Crowley again one last time. It would be at least a year before he could see him again, after all, provided he _ever_ could.

_Angel, angel, angel._

The nickname rang hollow within his skull over and over as he set to work, pacing the castle and striking up friendly conversation with anyone he saw. It was back to the nonexistent grind, everything back to normal. The Dark had apparently been gracious enough to leave without making any messes._ That may have been a first time_, Aziraphale recounted to himself. In previous years he remembered seeing janitors hustling about in corridors, collecting rubbish and sweeping floors until they shone once more. He remembered how Archangel Michael would watch over the work, mumbling about what savages the Dark were, how ungracious, how unfavourable. It was certainly a fairly widespread opinion that they had very little regard for cleanliness and common courtesy.

After his night with Crowley, suddenly Aziraphale wasn't quite so sure.

Nothing about that man had implied sloppiness, or any lack of courtesy. He'd been respectful and polite, and very well dressed. Surely if he was so well brushed up, he couldn't be a savage?

It racked Aziraphale's brain.

_Lunch,_ he decided hastily. _I must be hungry._

He trotted downstairs to the castle kitchens, peeping his head inside to have a peek about. He knew he was about half an hour early for usual lunch hour, but Deirdre and Arthur Young, the castle cooks, were well-spirited enough to allow him in early most days, even with their high-spirited son, Adam, racing about the castle at all hours. Today, however, he saw only Deirdre, and a young man who was looking very nervous indeed. Deirdre was handing him piles of dishes, explaining something Aziraphale couldn't quite catch from the door. The young man looked over and spotted him lurking in the doorway, and swallowed thickly. Deirdre looked over curiously, and her face shifted into an easy smile when she saw Aziraphale in her doorway.

"Aziraphale! Please, sir, come in. I was just explaining to Mr Pulsifer exactly how I want these stacked between meals."

"So sorry for intruding," Aziraphale apologised, slipping into the room. "And it's lovely to meet you, Mr Pulsifer. Are you working here?"

"Please, call me Newt," the young man stammered. "And... and, no, I'm just... trying to find something to do, really. And since Mr Young isn't here today, I figured..."

"Alright, Newt," Aziraphale smiled, rescuing the poor soul from continuing on his anxiety-driven ramble.

"What can I do for you?" Deirdre asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "You want something to eat?" She must have noticed a faint blush or some guilty facial expression, because she cracked a wide grin. "Of course you do. I'll whip something up, don't you worry. Newt, come and help."

"Is there anything I can do?" Aziraphale called after her, always too polite to ask someone to do work without offering his help.

"No, don't worry! You sit down. You look positively _exhausted_."

He rubbed his eyes as he sat in one of the chairs along the side of the island in the middle of the room.

"I didn't get any sleep last night," he admitted.

"Lost in thought?" Deirdre looked up while she worked, her eyes full of curiosity.

"I suppose so, yes. Just... thinking about last night."

Deirdre didn't pry, but her face almost lit up. She loved a good piece of juicy gossip, and anything juicy enough to keep Aziraphale awake all night would satisfy her gossiping needs for a year. Aziraphale found he didn't have it in him to deny her - _or maybe I just need to tell someone, _anyone_ about this..._

"There was this man, last night..."

"A man?!" Deirdre look positively thrilled. This was clearly her favourite kind of gossip. "Tell me everything!"

"Please, there's not much to tell," Aziraphale waved his hand, his face burning. "We... danced. For a while. And then we took a walk, looked over the town, talked."

"How sweet."

"He was. He was... fascinating to me, I suppose. I can't get him out of my head."

He buried his face in his hands, unable to contain his blush.

"What was his name?" Deirdre asked, and Aziraphale bit his lip.

"Crowley."

There was a moment of silence, before Deirdre's warm hand rested on Aziraphale's back.

"Fret not, my dear," she said, placing a plate of reheated stew and a hunk of bread in front of him. "You'll see him again, I'm certain of it."

"I hope you're right," Aziraphale sighed. "Thank you so much for this, Mrs Young. Really, I appreciate it."

"Not another word," she smiled. "A hopeful heart must be fed."

* * *

It was rare to have a day of anything but idle wandering and vague chatter in Aziraphale's schedule. Next to nobody in the Light had problems, nobody would come all the way to the palace just to find an official peacekeeper and solve their issues. If he had an exciting day, he might settle an argument between a struggling married couple, but those were very unusual days.

As such, Aziraphale felt his gut drop to the floor and convulse with anxiety when he received an official summons to head office. Of course, the Lord herself would never look down her nose far enough to talk to anyone of his level, but even being called to speak to the High Lords and Ladies Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon was a very big deal - especially all at the same time.

He hurried across corridors and up spiral staircases, the adrenaline pumping through his veins enough to stop himself from keeling over and puffing. It was certainly hard work getting up there, but when one is more nervous than a fox fleeing a pack of hounds, exertion tends to put itself on the back burner.

When he finally stood outside their office, he finally bent over to take a deep breath. He let his heart rate slow considerably before he politely knocked on the door.

"Come in, Aziraphale," he heard Michael call out from within, and he slipped inside.

The Lords were spaced out around the room in chairs, legs folded and hands quaintly resting on their laps. He walked into the middle of the room, nodding his head respectfully to each of them in turn. Michael, sitting directly in front of him, smiled, although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Welcome. We understand that you're a peacekeeper here?"

"Y-yes," Aziraphale said, keeping a polite smile plastered to his face. He refused to break character or show any sign of fear or nervousness in the face of his superiors. He was a respectable, hard-working individual... or, at least, that was how he hoped to be known. _Can any peacekeeper here ever really be _hardworking_? There's nothing to do other than walk around and talk about utter nonsense to complete-_

"We have a task for you," Michael continued, cutting off his inner monologue. He raised his eyebrows somewhat - this hadn't quite been what he was expecting.

_What _was_ I expecting?_ he asked himself. This had never happened before, and surely they weren't going to start demanding frequent in-person checkups on each individual worker in the Light, or even just the palace. There were far too many for that to be at all feasible.

"A task, Lady?" he asked, swallowing thickly in a vain attempt to wet his sandpaper throat.

"That's right." Michael stood. "There have been increasing attempts to form an alliance between the Light and Dark in recent years, despite our... differences. Tensions have been rising along the southern border, and so yesterday our respective authorities made the decision to send ambassadors for the time being in an attempt to settle matters."

"Ambassadors...?" Aziraphale's throat dried even further, if that were even possible. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, although he dreaded to think of where it would lead. He couldn't imaging living in the Dark. Fairytales painted it to be gloomy and grim, stinking of sulphur from the mines along the coast and with more poisoned lakes than healthy ones. And yet... Crowley's eyes wouldn't recede after they'd been so thoroughly burned into his mind.

"You, as a peacekeeper, are a perfect candidate to be sent across. You'd receive a room in their palace and you'd be treated with kindness during your time there. You will not be under any pressure to perform manual labour, but you _must_ keep up appearances and make a good impression. Is this understood?"

"Yes," his voice was tiny.

Michael raised an eyebrow. She seemed to scorn him as she looked him up and down, before she sat once more and waved her hand, signifying she'd finished talking. Gabriel stood.

"You'll be sent off this evening," he said. "Someone will be by to help you pack up your things, and you may take your pick of any of the unemployed servants to take with you. Only one, mind you."

Aziraphale already had someone in mind - a jumpy, rather anxious young man who simply wanted something to do. He nodded, feeling slightly better with more solidified travel plans rather than the enormity of his task when said travels would come to an end. He was dismissed with another wave of Michael's hand and he turned, trembling as he exited the room.

As soon as the large doors swung shut behind him, he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and nearly retched. Fear and annoyance reared their ugly heads, both emotions largely frowned upon in these shining halls, but he couldn't help himself. He made his way back to his room with weak knees and an unhappy stomach, and only when he threw himself onto his bed did he get any relief when he remembered something.

If he was to travel to the Dark and live there for, well... for _goodness knows_ how long, then he very well might run into his stranger again.

_My lord_, he whispered to himself. Anything would be worth bearing, he thought, if it meant he'd be able to see those eyes again.

He summoned a servant to help him pack and another to fetch Newt, and for once, he let his imagination run away with him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

SUCCESS, a follow-up chapter that isn't half the length of the original! Turns out I'm still loving this AU so OOP. Aziraphale has a bit of a gay panic. The best kind.

Today's soundtrack of choice was the 1982 Dark Crystal OST because I loved that movie so much as a kid. (I haven't had a chance to watch the series yet so please no spoilers!)

Again just a reminder that this premise was inspired by "with all your delights" by weatheredlaw so please check that out!


	3. Anticipation

As promised, Aziraphale and Newt set out from the palace at dusk with full, churning bellies. They rode in a fine carriage, of course just as white and gold-trimmed as everything else in the Light, drawn by two rather beautiful stallions.

Newt had barely said a word all day after he'd been given the news, and Aziraphale was beginning to worry that he'd made a mistake and chosen someone who hadn't wanted to leave in the first place. His fears were put to rest about an hour into their journey, however, when his nervous companion looked over.

"I, um... wanted to say thanks."

"Oh?" Aziraphale looked over curiously, and Newt flushed.

"That is, I mean, erm... Thank you for thinking of me. For, you know... bringing me along. I've always wanted to see the Dark." Aziraphale smiled at that.

"I understand what you mean. It's quite the mystery, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Newt nodded, relieved that he hadn't been met with scrutiny for voicing such an unusual opinion. "Y-yes. So many people seem to, you know... hate them. That side. Their messy habits, and such..."

"Indeed," Aziraphale said, looking out the window. He couldn't deny that his mind once more wandered to Crowley. His fingers itched to run through those stunning russet curls...

"I've never spoken to a Dark before," Newt continued, interrupting Aziraphale's fantasy. "Have you?"

"Once or twice," Aziraphale smiled weakly. "I was invited to that ball the other day."

"Oh right. Crowley, was it? I hadn't realised he was Dark..."

"Yes," Aziraphale sighed, wringing his hands somewhat. He felt his eyes sting with some emotion he refused to acknowledge - guilt, confusion, hurt? None of them would ever be acceptable in the Light. "Hence my... confusion. He was... unlike anything I've ever been told about the Dark. He's all I can think about right now, it seems."

"You seem to really like him," Newt commented. "Pardon my asking, but are you...?"

"I... swing that way, yes," Aziraphale answered, not bothering to hide the slight note of amusement in his voice. Some may have chosen to discriminate him for his attractions, and he'd found that laughing about it usually deterred most of those brave enough to confront him directly about it. Something about Newt, however, told him that the nervous young lad would never stoop so low as to hate such a silly thing. _Why hate what can't be helped?_

"Right," Newt nodded, without any trace of malice in his voice at all. While he was unsurprised, Aziraphale was relieved. He looked over at Newt as the man continued. "So, what happened with him? Did he come onto you, or...?"

"No, no," Aziraphale blushed. "There wasn't any... flirting that I was aware of."

_Angel,_ a voice in his head called, and his cheeks burned darker. _Angel, angel, angel, he called you angel..._

"But you talked, regardless?" Newt persisted, not taking any notice of Aziraphale's embarrassment.

"Yes," he mumbled. "Talked, danced, went for a walk... did you not hear me when I talked to Mrs Young about it?"

"Yes, sorry," Newt stammered. "Apologies, didn't mean to overstep."

"It's alright," Aziraphale nodded, looking out across the hills again. Far above, a flock of birds danced through the sky, taking advantage of the last scraps of daylight. The clouds were painted brilliant shades of scarlet and gold, and it reminded him of the Dark. He so dearly wished to see those colours again. In the Light, white was seen as a symbol of purity and unity, but even Gabriel had admitted to him before that it grew a bit dull at times.

They passed into a comfortable silence as the sun slipped over the western horizon and the last of the colours faded from the world. Aziraphale yawned, finding exhaustion overwhelming after a night of no sleep and a stressful day.

"I think I might close my eyes for a moment," he murmured, resting against the side of the carriage. Newt's only response was a yawn, and Aziraphale assumed he must have had the same idea.

He drifted off into sleep without too much difficulty, and his dreams were filled with a tall, dark stranger with flaming curls and eyes like honey.

* * *

It was well into the next morning when the carriage shuddered to a halt and Aziraphale was rudely awoken by hollering outside the carriage. He frowned, rubbing his eyes free of sleep, and opened the carriage door to see what all the fuss was about. About thirty paces ahead of them on the road was a Dark carriage, driven by a single dark horse with a mane tied into braids with colourful ribbons. Their carriage driver had pulled over and stood beside their two white stallions, letting them take a drink from a trough he'd rested in front of them.

The driver of the Dark's carriage, still hooting her greetings, clambered down and trotted over to meet them.

"Ey, greetings!" she called out, waving her hand all the way above her head. Aziraphale had to admit, it was brash and unnerving, but slightly charming. He noticed Newt peeking his head out of the carriage door behind him, clearly not brave enough to get out completely, but too curious to let this slide without at least having a quick look at what was going on.

"Hello, there!" Aziraphale called back courteously. "How go your travels?"

"Travels?" the Light's carriage driver asked him incredulously. "I hope they have a bloody good explanation for being here!"

"Sir, please," Aziraphale scolded him. "It's blatantly obvious why they're here."

"Aye, the lad's got it right," the Dark driver smiled. "Got the ambassador here with me, Lord Beelzebub themself!"

Aziraphale blinked, taken aback by that.

"My lord, the Prince? They sent Beelzebub?" He began to feel very out of place indeed, even though they were still technically standing on Light territory...

He chose to ignore how he could now see the wall bordering the two territories in the distance.

"Aye, 'tis Bee. Why, you expecting someone else?" the driver seemed amused by Aziraphale's shock, before she furrowed her brow. "I take it you're the ambassador for your side, eh? They're not trusting us enough to send anyone of any real importance, I take it?"

"Well," Aziraphale mumbled. "I don't know if I'd..."

"Ah, calm your breeches, I'm only teasing. Our side's very well aware they'd send someone of a lower stature. Kinda why they send Bee. They've been offered a chance to room next to, what's-his-face... Gabriel, is it?"

"Oh, yes!" Aziraphale nodded, flushed. "Lord Gabriel's a nice man, very polite. I'm sure your Lord Beelzebub will get along nicely with him."

He noticed Beelzebub peering out of the carriage, clearly growing impatient, and the driver shrugged.

"Duty calls, I guess. Fair travels, mister!" She turned and made her way back to her carriage, getting on and spurring the horse forwards. The carriage lumbered past them and made its way towards the Light palace without a care in the world. Beelzebub eyed Aziraphale carefully as they passed by and the two made uneasy eye contact, although Aziraphale made sure to flash a kind smile and a small wave before they were out of sight.

"What d'ya think of that, then?" Newt asked curiously. "Quite rude, wasn't it?"

"Ah," Aziraphale smiled, although it was more for Newt's sake than any indicator of any real confidence. "I'm sure they meant nothing by it. Come, we should be on our way."

Waving off any concerns Newt voiced, he climbed back into the carriage, and they continued on their journey.

* * *

It was another two hours until they reached the wall bordering the two kingdoms, and another entire day before they would reach the Dark palace.

The entire journey, Aziraphale watched the world pass around them with amazement.

Rumours of the Dark had painted it to be a craggy, ash-filled kingdom where the trees had been burned down and mould had taken their place, where no animals roamed as they'd all been killed and turned into sick masks for their yearly Balls. These rumours couldn't be more wrong.

As they passed the wall, they emerged into a land of heather-strewn fells, misty valleys, and glittering rivers. Herds of deer grazed openly and without fear in the open fields, and thick forests looked teeming with life from afar. When they had to pass through one of these woods, Aziraphale saw nothing but thriving livelihood wherever he turned. Songbirds built nests, foxes crept after the carriage curiously, kingfishers dipped into rivers by the road. Rain splashed the road as they left the woods, and a family of mice scurried to shelter in the long grass.

Far from the vast expanses of green hills and open spaces in the Light, this place was complex, colourful, painted all shades of red, orange, purple, and blue. They passed by villages filled with laughing children and music, everything vibrant and carefree and totally different from the Light. As they passed through villages, people stopped and waved the carriage on, every bit as friendly and warm as the Light painted them to be cold and cruel.

Aziraphale had unfortunately slept through the sunset, which he scolded himself for thoroughly when he woke and realised, much to Newt's concern.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I've... wanted to watch the sun set here for a while." Newt only nodded and shyly smiled.

It was noon by the time they reached the palace. It was tall and imposing, made of dark stone, and yet it wasn't unfriendly. It loomed over the fells like a protective cloud, sheltering its kingdom like a proud mother bird shielding her young from the rain. It was comforting, and Aziraphale couldn't help but grin as they drew closer. Of course he was nervous and his belly still flipped over itself, but everything so far had been a pleasant surprise, except perhaps for their encounter with Beelzebub on the road.

Their carriage pulled up in front of the main doors, and Aziraphale was surprised to find a welcoming party had gathered around them. One of the High Lords of the Dark and rumoured best friend to Beelzebub, Lord Dagon, was standing on the stairs leading up to the castle with hands folded behind her back. She wore a pleasant smile which didn't quite hit Aziraphale the right way. She stood elevated above the crowd, clearly highlighting herself as the figure of authority here.

Unable to take in so many new faces all at once when he was used to the near complete isolation of living in the Light, he got out of the carriage and helped Newt get down after him, before he headed over to greet Dagon. She extended a hand and he shook it.

"We thank you for having us," he said, confident and well-mannered. "I hope we can prove to be pleasant guests." Dagon nodded and smiled a little wider, before she called over his head.

"Please show these gentlemen to their rooms." Aziraphale looked around to find their guide, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw familiar golden eyes looking back at him, only this time, there was no mask to cover his face from Aziraphale's view. He was angular and well-sculpted, slender and emotive, and utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

Crowley grinned and sauntered over, offering Aziraphale his arm.

"Lovely to see you again, Aziraphale."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Gay panic increases!

I'm really proud of myself for writing so much in such a short period of time, if I may say so! I personally struggle a lot with writing anything over 1000 words, especially in follow-up chapters, and so this fic has been a bit of a breakthrough for me! I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Discovery

"Lovely to see you again, Aziraphale."

Completely struck dumb, it was a moment before Aziraphale could snap out of his shock. He shakily took the arm that Crowley had offered him, trembling as they came into contact. He'd spent every spare minute since they'd parted thinking about his man, and all of a sudden he'd burst back into his life with a cheeky grin and an unmasked face.

_Oh, his face... _It was everything he'd hoped it would be. He blushed as a pang of shame hit him in the gut. He'd met this man once, for goodness' sakes, how could he possibly pine so much so soon? It made him look like some sort of obsessive harlot, fantasising about the first beautiful thing that popped into his life!

He noticed that Crowley was waiting for a response, and blinked.

"Y-yes!" he stammered, his cheeks burning. "Perfectly wonderful. Tickety boo."

"Tickety boo?" Crowley repeated, his voice positively sizzling with curiosity. He tilted his head to the side, grinning just a little wider. "Goodness, you must have had a long journey."

He looked up and started walking, leading Aziraphale - and Newt, who trotted loyally alongside the pair - up and into the castle. The massive doors swung open with a soft creak and slammed shut with a _thump_ which echoed deep in Aziraphale's chest. Inside, he found he was confronted with a gentle, low murmur. People flitted back and forth, exchanging friendly greetings and conversations which seemed to keep them perfectly enthralled.

He looked around, totally taken by surprise, although he knew that he should really be used to that at this point. People looked genuinely passionate, emotional, unafraid to express themselves.

What really got Aziraphale's blood pumping, however, were the books.

Easily half of the people flowing through the corridors here carried a book or two under their arms. Some who spoke to nobody walked by with their books open, fully entranced by what they were reading. Others spoke with their books open, flipping through the pages as they talked.

It filled him with joy.

"What's up?" he vaguely heard Crowley ask. He couldn't reply immediately, still taking in what he was seeing. His fingers itched to run down the spines of all these books. He wanted to drink them all up, stay up reading them until he couldn't possibly read any more...

"Hey, um, Aziraphale?" Newt lightly poked him in the arm, making him flinch and blink.

"I'm... so sorry, I..." he blushed. "I'm just... surprised."

"By what?" Crowley asked curiously. Their arms were still interlinked, and remembering that contact made him shiver.

"The, um..." Cheeks still flushed, Aziraphale gestured to everyone moving around them. "The books. There's... so many..."

"Ahhh, right," Crowley sounded amused. He shook his head and sighed. "I'd forgotten about that. No books allowed in the Light, huh?"

"They're, well... not encouraged. Why encourage fiction when our reality is perfect just as it is?"

"How shallow," Crowley said cooly. It took Aziraphale by surprised - nobody had ever insulted the Light to his face before. It _wasn't done_, as a principle. He couldn't help but get an odd feeling about it. It hadn't been the first time Crowley had made odd comments about the Light, after all. _How did he saw he knows it so well, again? Oh, right. He didn't._

"I... well, I..."

"Don't worry, angel," his fascinating friend continued. "It's not your fault. You can read all you like here."

"I can?" Aziraphale failed to hide how much that lifted his spirits. Crowley laughed again, before continuing on his way. He led them through the crowds and into some quieter hallways, before reaching a staircase at the end of the twisting maze of halls.

"I wouldn't blame you if you got lost here every now and then," Crowley said, still leading Aziraphale and Newt up the stairs. "It's kind of a labyrinth. Decent defence mechanism, don't you think?"

"You make it confusing on purpose?" Newt asked curiously, struggling to keep up with them. Crowley took long, sauntering strides, careful not to haul Aziraphale along, but unashamed about his fast pace.

"I mean, I doubt it was intentional during construction. Just ended up that way, I guess. Best of both worlds, maybe? Fine to those who know it, a pain in the royal arses to everyone who doesn't?"

"Maybe," Newt mumbled, looking around. He fell behind a little and squeaked as he realised, jogging to catch up with them.

"So, you'll be stationed on the third floor. Got a nice view of the coast there. Your rooms' are pretty close to mine. I'll be acting as, well, I guess your guide while you're here. If you need anything and don't feel comfortable asking a servant, you can ask me. Just... leave me be if it's the middle of the night, unless it's an emergeny of some sort. Sound good?"

_Sounds better than good_, Aziraphale thought. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. _No, don't think like that. Stupid. Stupid boy._

"Yes, thank you," Aziraphale nodded, unable to help the fluttering of his heart at the prospect of seeing him more. "How about you, Newt?"

"Y-yes, of course! It's fine. All good here."

"Right," Crowley strolled on, leading them to two neighbouring doors. "Here you are. Choose which rooms you want for yourselves. I'm just along that corridor and to the right. Got it? I can always show you later if you're worried about finding me."

"Sounds excellent, Crowley," Aziraphale smiled. "Thank you."

He blushed as he realised they were still linking arms, and dropped his arm, and then regretted how fast he'd done it. Crowley smoothly placed both of his hands on his own lower back, but a fool could see the slight moment of vulnerability there.

"Right, then, well... I'll leave you to get settled. Servants will bring up your belongings in due time. If you want lunch, they'll bring that to your rooms as well... let you get settled, instead of forcing you to eat in the dining hall with everyone right off the bat."

Without waiting for a response, Crowley turned and wandered down the corridor, leaving Aziraphale and Newt to get sorted.

"R-right..." Aziraphale breathed, watching him go. _My, oh, my, what a bittersweet sight..._

"So," Newt began, and Aziraphale turned to face him. "Which room would you like?" He pushed open the doors so they could see into both rooms, and both men let out a breath as they took in where they'd be staying.

The rooms were huge, decorated from floor to ceiling with beautiful tapestries, mounted deer heads, enormous and intricate dreamcatchers, and the most wonderful of _bookshelves_... They looked nearly identical, and Aziraphale could see a door next to the enormous four-posted bed that most likely opened onto a balcony. Crowley had said that they'd get a nice view of the sea, after all. Large windows also faced the coast, although they were too far away to see much out of them. The walls were made of dark stone and the floors were covered with wonderful rugs, but it was light and homely, not cold and imposing.

"My word," he breathed. "They're simply beautiful."

"Y-yeah," Newt mumbled, just as shocked as Aziraphale. "Jeez, do you think they treat all their guests like this?"

The thought hadn't crossed Aziraphale's mind, but he pondered it curiously. What about peasants who came in begging for a free meal? Would they be granted this hospitality, or would they be thrown in some chilled, dingy dungeon? It was an unnerving thought, to be sure.

He looked over at Newt.

"Well, both rooms look about the same. Do you have any preference?"

Newt wondered for a moment, before he pointed to the room on the right. "I'll take this one."

"Excellent," Aziraphale smiled. "I'll leave you to get settled, then?"

"Sounds good," Newt said, before padding into his room and closing the door. Aziraphale walked meekly into his own, jaw hanging slightly open as he really took in his surroundings. The ceiling was high, with a chandelier hanging above the middle of the room and decorated torches lining decoration-free parts of the walls. The windows let in plenty of light, however, so he found they weren't quite necessary for the time being.

Unable to stop himself, he made a beeline for the door by his bed, and opened it to a balcony - _suspicions were correct, then._

He stepped out, admiring the rather stunning view of rocky cliff faces leading out to a vast ocean. Seabirds flew in small flocks, keening to each other before diving into the water to snatch themselves a fish. They looked like they were dancing. It reminded Aziraphale of his stomach, however, which growled lowly.

As if on cue, there was a knock on his door.

"Come in," he called, and a servant came in with his bags.

"These'r yours, sir?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You be wanting lunch, sir?"

Aziraphale bit his lip. "Yes, please. I'd appreciate that. Do you need any help?"

The servant's eyes boggled out of his skull. He very clearly hadn't been expecting that.

"Erm, no, sir, but, eh... thank you. I'll be back up, eh, later..."

He back out of the room and closed the door behind him, and Aziraphale buried his face in his hands.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid man..." He realised how condescending he must have sounded to the poor man, and resolved to apologise when he returned. His habit of being friendly with the kitchen staff didn't apply here. Here, he was a guest, an ambassador, and he wouldn't be welcome snooping about castle kitchens just to talk to the staff.

It wasn't long before the servant returned with his food, and Aziraphale sincerely apologised for making the wrong impression. It didn't seem to reduce much of the tension between the pair of them - one of the Dark would hardly be expected to trust their hereditary enemy, after all - but it certainly eased some of the stress in Aziraphale's gut. His lunch was rather lovely, a sort of lamb curry atop a bed of very soft rice, and a piece of flatbread he'd never had before. It was spicy and aromatic, completely unlike the food from the Light. Back there, food was made in mind of nutrition and warmth, designed to make you feel warm and happy inside, although they weren't much for flavour there. Of course Mrs Young's stews were excellent, but... well, to call them _bland_ may be an understatement.

It was shocking how different the two kingdoms were. Instead of a contrast between good and evil, which had been pounded into Aziraphale's head since he was just a boy, he found it to be a contrast between the calm and the erratic. The Light was a place of tranquility, peace, and cleanliness, while the Dark seemed to thrive on exploring the arts and pushing the boundaries of colour and design. Every room, every bite of food, every playing child, were exciting and brash and played by no rules. It was definitely different, and somewhat messy, but Aziraphale couldn't see a scrap of evil here.

It was a rather chilling thought.

It was, however, quickly forgotten when his mind returned to the large bookshelves covering an entire wall in his room. Dipping his flatbread into his curry and taking another bite, he trailed over to read the spines, before picking out a rather large, dusty tome of something called "The Terrific Tales of Timothy Tick", and sitting on his bed to start reading.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Another chapter up! This one was tricky for me to read since I didn't have much of a plan for it (other than future bookworm nerd discovers books) but I'm happy I finished it!

The curry he's got is supposed to be rogan josh, by the way!


	5. Argument

The time flew away from Aziraphale as he flicked through page after page after page, fully absorbed in his book. The sun dipped towards the horizon as servants came to turn on the torches lining the walls, and he didn't lift his eye from the books once except to thank them and to change books as he finished them. He positively tore through each volume, eating up dozens of stories.

It was like being reunited with an old close friend, only he'd never had a chance to meet them before. He'd gone from someone who'd only read non-fiction historical (perhaps propaganda) books to a shout-it-loud-and-proud bookworm in the space of one afternoon.

He flew through history books from the Dark, fascinated by the new take on the stories he'd grown up with. Instead of the stories of the Dark pillaging the Light for generations until the Light leaders built a wall to protect themselves, he saw the feud through the eyes of the pillagers. He read about how the Light were an imposing force, brutally forcing the Dark to live on little food, not enough water, brutal working hours. He felt sick to his stomach at some of the stories he uncovered.

It didn't even occur to him how much time had passed until a sharp knock at his door brought him out of his trance. He blinked quickly and looked out the window, eyes boggling as he saw how low the sun was.

"My lord..."

He got up, shuffling to the door, clutching his still-open book to his chest. He opened the door and saw Newt lingering uneasily in the doorway. He smiled sheepishly at him.

"Oh, Newt. Hello."

"'Ziraphale, hi. It's, uh... been like, seven hours. You okay?"

Aziraphale's cheeks burned.

"Y-yes, so sorry. I've been, uh, well..."

"Seems he's discovered the joy of books," a new voice rang out, and Crowley stepped into view. Aziraphale couldn't help how his heart skipped a beat. Crowley's eyes slid over Aziraphale, lingering on the book he held to his breast, and the burning in his cheeks only grew hotter.

"Enjoying them?" Crowley's voice was low and smooth. Aziraphale wet his lips.

"Y-yes, thank you," he stammered. "I've... never seen anything quite like these. They're..."

"Enlightening," Crowley answered, with a somewhat resigned, almost sad tone. It intrigued Aziraphale, but he was too distracted by the book to ask about it.

"Yeah," he repeated, and Crowley chuckled.

"Come on," he began, turning and starting to calmly stroll down the corridor. "I've got something special planned."

Aziraphale and Newt exchanged quick glances, before hurrying after their guide. Their shoes clacked against the dark stone floors, echoing down the halls. Newt wrinkled his nose as they descended down a dark staircase which stank of sulphur, and Aziraphale politely coughed.

"Yeah, I know," Crowley mumbled back to them. "S'the, you know. The fires. You should know all about that, Angel, judging by what you're holding."

_There he goes again..._

The sweetness of hearing the nickname was somewhat spoiled by his mention of the fires. Aziraphale had read in his book how the Light had punished the Dark Lords for rising against them, and burned many of them in magical flames made of sulphur and brimstone. It had killed thousands, maimed many more, and painted the Dark's lands as well as its inhabitants with shadow and colour, while the Light remained pure and untouched.

Of course, Aziraphale knew the attack had not been unprovoked. The Dark's revolutions had killed hundreds, if not thousands, and traumatised the entire kingdom of the Light. It was difficult for him to see anything but suffering on either side of the war, although the complete masking of the Light's actions made him want to curl up and do anything to forget it.

It was only then that he realised what Crowley had pointed out, and looked down to realise he'd brought his book with him.

"Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry. It must be such poor etiquette, forgive me. I'll return this at once-"

"Hey, hey, calm down," Crowley's voice lacked any sign of cruel amusement, which Aziraphale had so feared. Instead, it was understanding and gentle. Crowley seemed to understand his desperate love for these which had been hidden from him for so long. He felt like he'd been robbed of something he'd so desperately needed, and he just couldn't bring himself to put down what was comforting him so.

Aziraphale blushed as he noticed Crowley had turned to face them once more, and even stepped closer. They weren't anywhere near as close as they'd been on the night of the dance, but he could have touched Crowley's hair had he reached out.

"You don't have anything to fear here," he murmured. "I get it, I do."

Finally, Aziraphale couldn't help himself.

"How?" he murmured. "How do you understand me so well? What... what happened to you?"

A muscle by Crowley's eye twitched, and his serpentine pupils narrowed somewhat.

"That's none of your concern."

The words stung and left Aziraphale feeling hollow, and Crowley briskly turned to start walking again. Aziraphale looked at Newt with shame, and he looked on with confusion and concern.

"You alright?" he asked, fixing his glasses, and Aziraphale shrugged.

"I... yes. I'm fine."

"You sure? He's kinda... a lot. Very fast-paced."

Aziraphale nodded. "I know... this entire thing's happened so fast. It just.. I don't know. It feels right, talking to him. I feel like I almost know him."

"Know him?" Newt asked, furrowing his brow.

"I don't know... he just seems so... oddly familiar. Even his voice..."

Newt shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know, sir, really."

Aziraphale waved a hand.

"Sorry, Newt. This is all... very peculiar. To me, and everyone else, I suppose."

"You two!" Crowley snapped, his voice suddenly much less pleasant. "Move it!"

Newt looked over at Aziraphale uncertainly, and both men started after Crowley once more.

Their lean guide let them to the main hall of the castle, where people were milling about. Aziraphale looked around, watching dinner being served.

"I thought we weren't eating here today?" he asked, confused as to what had changed their plans. Crowley shook his head.

"We're not," he looked at them over his shoulder. "We're grabbing a plate and taking it elsewhere. Trust me." He pointed. "Grab a plate from over there. Limited choice, I'm afraid, but the stuff here's usually pretty good." He shuddered. "Just... not goat's cheese. Don't trust the goat's cheese."

Aziraphale grinned at that, but he and Newt padded over to grab their food. Aziraphale thanked the servant spooning... something, onto their plates, and padded back towards Crowley.

"What is this?" Newt asked incredulously. "It's... bizarre-looking!"

"Noodles," Crowley answered simply. "Food's better here. Everything is."

"Pardon?" Newt blinked, staring at his food.

"I said noodles."

"No, no, the second bit. Everything here's better? How much of the Light have you experienced for you to make that kind of assumption? I must remind you who you're talking to."

"I've experienced more than enough," Crowley spat. "Bloody fools, took one look at common kindness and threw it all over the wall, along with their fireballs. What gives you the right to threaten me in my kingdom? I know exactly who I'm talking to!"

"Excuse me?" Newt didn't bother to hide the incredulousness in his tone. He clearly hadn't appreciated that. Aziraphale had to admit, he hadn't, either.

"You disagree? The Light are filled with arrogant, pretentious _fucks_ who live to degrade everyone less rich than them! They pretend they're pure to the point of disregarding _anyone brave enough to be human_! Their goddamned food is just as bland and tasteless as the people, and I refuse to apologise for that."

Aziraphale couldn't help but whimper at the vicious sting in his chest at Crowley's harsh exclamation. He didn't even check to see if Crowley'd noticed at first, but when he glanced up, he blinked in surprise to see his eyes glittering, his posture tense and his hands shaking.

As much as he'd learned about the Dark's innocence in the war generations ago, he'd been born and raised in the Light. It had created him, making him all that he was. He loved his home, loved the peace, as much as he'd dreamed of the Dark after meeting Crowley. Hearing the man he was so fascinated with so blatantly disregard everything he knew was a dull, throbbing ache.

"R-right..." he mumbled, suddenly deciding he'd lost his appetite. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I think I'm going to retire. Please, my serving should go to a servant, or... just, someone who needs it."

He put his bowl down on the table and left, making his way back towards the stairs. He admitted to himself that he was quite proud of himself for remembering the way, but as he walked, he couldn't help but wonder what had brought on such a sharp change of tone.

Crowley seemed to be calm and collected, and very careful with the words he chose. He was calculating, and so he must have known what he was saying was hurtful. He'd been in an ordinary mood, even taking a moment to be gentle to Aziraphale when he'd panicked about his book. What had brought on this sudden flip in attitude?

His mind was brought back to their brief confrontation. Crowley had been bitter about the sulphur in the stairs, but he hadn't seemed truly _angry..._

"Until I asked him how he knew so much about the Light," he breathed, stopping in his tracks. "Oh, lord, it's my fault."

He couldn't even try to imagine what had happened to Crowley, but clearly, it had had something to do with the Light. It had been a sore spot in conversation ever since the night they met, and Aziraphale had been so blunt as to assume he could simply ask...

He was mortified.

"Surely there's no harm in curiosity?" he whispered, rushing into his room. He slammed the door and drew the curtains. "Oh, Crowley..."

He replayed the argument in his head. Crowley's words had been vicious and hurtful, and he was definitely in the wrong for them, but surely any trauma he'd experienced couldn't be his fault? Aziraphale reminding him about it every time they spoke would obviously hurt...

Then again, he was angry. Regardless of how he'd clearly brought up sour memories, Crowley had no right to be so _rude_. He'd brutally ripped apart the dignity of guests - not only that, but politically vital ambassadors visiting to make peace, while his own Lord resided in the kingdom he was so carelessly ripping to shreds.

"He should apologise," he mumbled. "He should. Just... maybe, I should, too."

He buried his face in his hands, and crawled into his bed, staring into the dark corners of his room. He let himself wallow in his guilt for an unknown period of time which crawled by like a tired snail, before he began to notice how comfortable the mattress he lay against really was. He wriggled out of his clothes and shoved them onto the floor, careless about how they'd crease overnight. He didn't want to think about this anymore.

_Sleep. Maybe sleep will help. Maybe tomorrow I can fix whatever it is I broke._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I'm back! I'm SO SORRY for being gone for so long! I've moved into university and have now officially started classes, so I've been insanely busy! Updates might slow down a bit, but I'm not cancelling this story yet! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter!


	6. Confession

_It was dark and cold, and then suddenly blindingly bright, and heat pounded the earth. Startled, Aziraphale looked around, trying to get his bearings, and discovered he was standing out in a stretching field, the grassy expanse telling him he must be somewhere in the Light. Hills glided away from him into the distance and the horizon kissed a cloudy sky. 'How did I get here?' he wondered, looking around. A painful tug in his chest reminded him how much he loved his home, although something didn't quite feel right. The air smelled different, and... were those trees?_

_Yes, forests carpeted the fields, more trees than he'd thought possible. 'Where is this?' he whispered, taking a step forwards. The ground under his feet rumbled and he flinched. A dull roar filled the air, and he clapped his hands over his ears. The sky lit up and flames began to rain down from the heavens, crashing into the ground with terrifying force._

_'Help!' Aziraphale cried out, trying to escape the flames as they struck the ground and cracked it open, opening rocky chasms in the floor. Wails floated into the sky from nobody's mouth. A curled up leaf on the ground shrivelled and burned, setting the grass around it aflame. The air became thick with the stench of burning sulphur._

_It struck him like a lightning bolt. 'This is the Dark. This was the day they sent the fires.'_

_He had no time to think any more. He fled, attempting to escape the fireballs, until one hit the ground directly in front of him and he was thrown into a chasm. He yelped in fear, scrabbling at the dirt walls and trying to find something to hold onto, but the chasm only crumbled wider and he was falling, falling, further and further, burning, screaming, his clothes set alight, his nails ripping from his fingers as he desperately tried to escape, his very eyes melting out of his skull..._

* * *

Aziraphale woke with a panicked gasp to rapid knocking at his door. He was drenched in sweat as he slowly came out of his nightmare.

"Oh, oh my..." he whispered to himself, looking around. "What's the time?" He got up, shrugging into his crushed blouse and trousers. He didn't bother with his jacket or bowtie, too shaken to try and fasten any of those buttons.

The knocking at the door grew more insistent.

"One moment, please!" Aziraphale called out, confused at how hoarse his voice was. It was raw and irritated, as if he'd been talking for hours.

_Or screaming,_ he thought to himself, and his blood chilled at the thought. Had he truly been crying out in his sleep? How embarrassing...

He peeked behind the curtains and noticed the sky was dark. It must have still been the middle of the night. Aziraphale felt a stab of annoyance as he realised he'd missed another sunset. _I must be cursed never to set eyes on one_, he grumbled to himself. The knocking started up again just as loudly as before, and he rolled his eyes before making his sleepy way over to the door. He noticed his hands were shaking - likely an after-effect of his nightmare. _What horrors the people here must have suffered..._

He opened the door and blinked in surprise as he saw Crowley standing there, alone, hair disheveled and eyes wide. He looked like a deer in the headlights when Aziraphale opened the door, pale and jumpy. He was a far cry from his usual suave persona.

"Crowley?" he asked, his voice not at all masking his surprise. "Dear boy, are you alright?"

"I," Crowley started, before swallowing hard. His adam's apple bobbed, and Aziraphale bit his tongue. Crowley seemed to struggle hard with himself for a moment, before he finally spoke. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Aziraphale blinked.

"For... you know. Yesterday evening. I messed up, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said any of that."

"No..." Aziraphale nodded, looking Crowley over. "No, you shouldn't have. But something tells me that something or _someone _drove you to that point." He stepped aside. "Please, come in... let's talk."

Crowley stepped inside, looking as jumpy and nervous as ever. It was almost cute... _No. Not allowed. Don't think like that._

"Do you want a drink?" Aziraphale gestured to a pitcher of water left on the desk, left for him by a servant the day before.

"Y-yeah, please..."

Zira nodded and trotted over to the desk, pouring a cup for both of them. He offered one of the glasses to his friend, who took it graciously with a nod of thanks. The pair made their way over to the bed and sat down at the end of it, side by side, just a foot apart. Crowley stared at the floor, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

"What's wrong?" Aziraphale murmured, wanting nothing more than to hold him and help him feel better. Crowley was smooth and elegant, someone who didn't have anything to fear. Right now, he looked like a terrified boy. "Crowley?"

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale," Crowley finally murmured, shifting his gaze up to meet Aziraphale's. "Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," Aziraphale murmured. "Of course, it was hurtful. I don't think we deserved to hear you talk about our home like that, and you certainly shouldn't have said those things about peace ambassadors in a crowded room just for your own safety... but I appreciate the apology. Everyone makes mistakes..." He chewed the inside of his cheek. "...As I feel I may have done by prying. I bothered you by asking about how you know so much about the Light, didn't I?"

Crowley stiffened, and looked away again.

"...Yes."

"You tried to make it clear that it wasn't a topic you wanted to discuss when we first met, out in the garden. I'm sorry I continued to pry."

Crowley said nothing, but nodded. Aziraphale smiled weakly.

"I... I would like to hear about it, one day. I'd like to help, if I can... I understand that something's clearly happened to you, something unpleasant, and... I don't like the thought of you suffering alone. But I'll never force you to talk about it when you clearly don't want to. If you tell me about it, it'll be because you _want_ to. Not because of my impatience."

Crowley finally turned, his eyes meeting Aziraphale's, and Aziraphale saw that they were brimming with tears. He frowned, gently lifting his hand to brush a tear away as it escaped and slipped down Crowley's cheek. His friend shuddered at the contact and closed his eyes, and more tears fell as he did so.

"I..." Crowley began. He wet his lips almost shaking as tears cascaded down his face. "I used to... well, I lived there. I was... I was born Light."

Aziraphale's eyes boggled as he took that in. He'd certainly imagined many horrible situations his dark friend may have gone through, but he hadn't for a second pictured something like this.

"You did?" he breathed, and it was only when Crowley's hand covered his own that he realised he'd cupped Crowley's jaw in his palm. He softly caressed his cheek with his thumb in an attempt to comfort him.

"Yeah. I, eh... I was. Fairly high ranked. Doubt you'd remember. It was... a long time ago."

"How long?"

"Oh, years... many years. I wasn't really allowed out to just talk, either... I was mostly set to work on building. I was one of the people who designed the castle... and everything in it. It has secret passages, you know."

"What?" Aziraphale gaped at him.

"Yeah, secret tunnels, leading all over. Even right up to... you know. Her office."

"Crowley!"

"What?" Crowley frowned, nuzzling his face into Aziraphale's hand, which still rested under Crowley's on his jaw.

"I just... can't believe this. Who were you? There were... quite a lot of people cast out before I moved up to be a peacekeeper... were you one of them?"

"Yeah."

"Who? What was your station?"

Crowley averted his gaze, choosing to stare down at the ornate duvet instead of meeting Aziraphale's eyes.

"I was a Lord."

Aziraphale's breath was stolen from his chest. Lords in the Light were the second in command after their High Lady. They ruled and controlled almost everything by Her command, made decisions for the good of the kingdom, shaped their futures. If a Lord had been cast out... it had been very much kept quiet. To lose such a role would be an immense dishonour - a shame likely to haunt someone for the rest of their life. Not to mention the ruthlessness of Lords Michael and Sandalphon...

"You were? Oh, Crowley..." Without much thought as to what he was doing, he lightly pulled Crowley closer and hugged him. He gently ran a hand through Crowley's hair, his heart skipping as he felt how soft those russet curls really were. _Even softer than they looked... _"I'm so sorry. That must... that must have been awful."

"Losing my job wasn't the half of it, Angel... but I'm not up for discussing it. Yet, anyway..." Crowley nuzzled Aziraphales chest, shyly reaching around to hug him back. He seemed afraid but curious, rather like a young animal starved of affection trying to discover what love really feels like. "I... I'm sorry I snapped. Again. It... bothers me that I hurt you so. You deserve better. Better than me."

"You talk like I want someone better," Aziraphale mumbled before he could stop himself. His cheeks burned, but he found he didn't regret saying it as he nuzzled Crowley's head. "Nobody's perfect. I'm far from it. All I know is... there's a little piece of you in me. Has been since I first laid eyes on you. You're all I can think about, all I... all I see. Every time I talk to people, you're there, influencing what I say, how I feel... it's maddening, really."

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's blouse, shaking. Zira softly kissed the top of his head, a somewhat awkward action due to their position, but he was determined to comfort his friend.

"I... must say I really like it here. It's very different from what I expected. The food's delightful, the decor's stunning, and oh, the _books_..." He gently squeezed Crowley. "But you... you're my favourite part."

Crowley let out a shaking sob, and Aziraphale gently patted him on the back. He continued, gazing at nothing in particular as his words ran away with him.

"Your eyes fascinate me, Crowley. They're beautiful to me. Bright, glowing... and your hair. It's like fire. I've been wanting to touch it since I first laid eyes on you, just to run my fingers through these curls... they're so damn _beautiful_, Crowley, they really are..." He closed his eyes and bit his lip. "You're beautiful. I love your voice, the way you walk... it's shameful, really. I've known you for just a few days, and yet... you're all I want. You've completed me. You filled my head with colour when my world was black and white."

Crowley was weeping by now, clutching at Aziraphale. He still hadn't lifted his head, but Zira could feel his tears dampening his blouse. Aziraphale swallowed thickly, guilt flooding through him as he realised what he'd done. Crowley'd come here to apologise, and he'd only gone on and just about confessed his obsession... _What an idiot, Aziraphale. Drive him away when he needed help. Completely inappropriate, utterly stupid, you-_

"I'm yours," Crowley whispered all of a sudden, his voice broken. He finally looked up, his cheeks stained with tears and his hair wild. His eyes burned like coals. "I was yours from the second you asked me to dance, Aziraphale. Believe me, I... I know it's ridiculous. Too fast, and... and stupid, probably, but..." He touched his forehead to Aziraphale's. He was still shaking. Aziraphale reached up to brush his curls behind his ear.

"If this is stupid," Zira murmured. "Then, well... I reject intelligence."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

:D


	7. Establishing

The pair of them stayed like that, perched on Aziraphale's bed with their foreheads touching, gazing into each other's eyes, for what could have been minutes, or could have been hours. Neither were entirely sure, and neither found it within themselves to much care. Crowley cried for most of it, and Aziraphale whispered sweet nothings to comfort him.

Eventually, Crowley had cried himself out, and he lay back on Aziraphale's bed, looking up at the canopy above it. He smiled weakly, swallowing hard. His adam's apple bobbed, and Aziraphale desperately wanted to kiss it. Of course, he resisted the temptation, knowing it was far too early to do something like that without invitation. Instead, he chose to rest his hand on top of Crowley's, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Holy fuck," Crowley chuckled breathlessly, still staring up at nothing. Aziraphale cocked his head to the side.

"Something wrong?"

"No, no, it..." Those gloriously serpentine eyes slid over to lock their gazes. "Far from it. I just... never imagined that conversation to go the way it did. Heh."

Aziraphale blushed. "Oh, eh... yes. Sorry, my dear boy. I may have..."

"You regret it?" Crowley suddenly looked vulnerable and rather afraid, although he clearly tried to mask it.

"No! No, not." Aziraphale swallowed. "Not at all. I meant every word." He squeezed Crowley's hand again and Crowley responded by grasping Aziraphale's and intertwining their fingers. It made Zira's heart skip. "I just know that you came in because you were upset, and then I went and... well, I made it all about me, didn't I? That was selfish of me. I'm sorry."

Crowley laughed, although his voice lacked any real humour.

"Angel," he began, his voice suddenly rather low. It was thrilling. "If you think that telling me you feel the same way about me that I've felt about you ever since we met is selfish, then I'm very interested to see your warped idea of generosity." He lightly tugged on Aziraphale's hand, pulling him down to lie alongside him. He turned to face his angel, those wonderful eyes wide open and unblinking. His hair was tussled and splayed out around him like a peacock's tail.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered. His heart rested in his throat, thrumming against his vocal chords with every beat. "It's... so fast."

"I know," Crowley nodded. "It's probably not a good idea to be so... well, yeah. So fast about this. But..." he pulled Aziraphale's hand closer and kissed the soft skin on his inner wrist. A shiver crawled up his spine and something stirred low in his gut. Blood rushing to his cheeks, he averted his gaze from that hypnotic snake's glare.

"We need... we need rules," he choked out. Crowley canted his head, curiosity bubbling in his eyes. It was odd to think that those eyes had been filled with tears only minutes earlier, when they now glowed with youthful excitement and cheeky enthusiasm.

"Rules, angel?"

"Y-yes. Just... for going forward. What we're okay with, what we're not okay with..." He still couldn't look at Crowley's eyes. He knew that if he did, he'd get lost in them forevermore, paddling in those pools of honey until the day he gave in and simply drowned.

"Alright. Fire away."

Aziraphale racked his brain. Rules alway sounded like such a sensible idea, such a healthy investment of energy, but when it came to the crunch... he found himself struggling to think of any. Crowley grinned at his hesitation, but Zira managed to stammer a response anyway.

"N-no public shows of affection just yet. Just until... we get into the flow of things."

Crowley's eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment Aziraphale thought he was going to protest, before he simply nodded his fiery head and waited for him to continue. If it were even possible, Aziraphale felt his blush growing darker.

"I... I won't be able to handle any real... intimacy, if you will, until we know each other better. Forgive me if that's disappointing, I know most people likely wouldn't be such a prude, but-"

"Not a prude," Crowley responded cooly. "This is good. Set boundaries. I'll respect them, as I hope you'll do for mine."

Aziraphale nodded gratefully. He thought for a moment, before he went on.

"I, erm... I'm not great about people touching my neck. I just... don't like it. It's unnerving. So please, well, refrain. If you'd be so kind."

Crowley's eyes shadowed with concern, but he nodded. Aziraphale looked away for a second. It was such a tiny detail, just a small discomfort borne from how Sandalphon would congratulate you for a job well done with just a little too much pressure on your nape, with just enough ice dripping through his voice to make it frightfully clear that he wouldn't tolerate failure. It was an anxiety solidified into his being from his time in the castle, and he found he'd never had much need for concern about it until he suddenly had the potential to have someone touch him with his full consent.

Aziraphale shrugged. "I'm not sure what else there is to say. I just want to be sensible about this."

"I've never been anything but," Crowley smiled, his voice adorned with a teasing charm. He pulled Aziraphale's hand to his lips and kissed it again. "So, angel, is that all for now?"

"I think so."

"Right. My turn, then?"

"I think so."

Crowley chuckled and nuzzled Aziraphale's hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again and inhaling deeply.

"I like to be the little spoon. That is the only time I can ever physically tell you that, so take a note of it. Just so you know."

Aziraphale grinned. "Consider it noted."

* * *

The pair of them talked until the sun rose and colour bled back into the sky. They talked about nothing and everything, their favourite foods and least favourite music - Crowley was very partial to fine wines, while Aziraphale preferred sweet pastries with plenty of cream. Aziraphale and Crowley both had a very strong distaste for musical theatre, something they laughed about for an almost shameful amount of time.

They talked about Aziraphale's childhood in the Light, about how he grew up waiting for his assignment to the castle. He'd been born to a nobleman and his wife and so a position there was something he'd been entitled to by birth, as much as he resented saying it while he knew so many had worked all their lives to get a position there and many died without ever achieving it. Crowley had listened without judgement, pressing kisses to Aziraphale's knuckles.

Aziraphale learned how Crowley had worked to his position of war general after his transition from the Dark.

"They didn't like me much," he murmured morosely. "I was an ex-Lord, one of those who'd hurt them so much." Aziraphale buried his fingers in his russet curls, stroking his hair as he talked. "I was put to work with the lowest of the low for a good long while... Took me well over a year before Beelzebub took any notice of my work. They saw I'd thrown myself into redemption and, well... decided to give me a shot, I guess. I got a chance to work as kitchen staff, and then the librarian's assistant, and then as a soldier. Worked myself up the army ranks, and well, here I am."

"You've come so far," Aziraphale murmured, smoothing his hand over Crowley's scalp before resting it on his jaw. Crowley nuzzled into it and kissed his palm. He'd worshipped Aziraphale's hands tonight. He never wanted to wash them again lest he lose the tingling feeling of Crowley's lingering kisses.

"It was hard," Crowley admitted. "I was, well... dealing with what came before, and transitioning to living here. It's very different, you know. Air's different, people are dealing with grief and trauma over something that happened generations ago, and nobody trusted anyone who'd lost their place in the Light. It's one thing to be fired from the castle, and something else entirely to be banished from an entire kingdom. They were all wondering what was so terrible, what we'd done that was horrible enough to get us cast out. Kind of humiliating, really. Felt like we were all on display."

"Like animals in cages?" Aziraphale tried to sympathise, his heart going out to his friend... _lover? Maybe..._

"Yeah," Crowley's voice cracked. "Animals in cages. Pretty spot on, actually."

Aziraphale bit his lip and finally, he lay down beside Crowley, nuzzling into his side. Crowley shifted so they were facing each other, placing his hand on his lover's _(?!)_ waist. His thumb delicately stroked him there, and it sent a delicious tingle up his spine. Goosebumps flared up on both their forearms and Aziraphale's cheeks turned beetroot for the millionth time in the past few days.

"This is so strange," he whispered. He admired how the morning light, although it rose from the opposite horizon, reflected from the sea through his window and lit Crowley's hair up like wildfire. He looked like some untameable beast, some feral creature no man was worthy of holding.

"Strange how?" Crowley's voice was just as soft, cracking. Aziraphale ran his hand down to rest on Crowley's arm, the one ending at his own waist.

"You came into my life days ago and yet you've changed it so drastically. If you'd asked me yesterday how you thought today would start, I wouldn't have dreamed of this. Watching the world wake up from in your arms... it's, well." He blushed and looked away, and Crowley grinned.

"Go on, angel. Finish the sentence."

"It sounds ridiculous, I-"

"I like ridiculous when it's you." Crowley shifted over and pressed a soft kiss to Aziraphale's jaw, and his entire body caught fire. _I'm going to burn, I'll light up and burn away right here..._

"It's beautiful," he breathed, turning his face and shifting forward to catch Crowley's lips with his own. It was soft and gentle, sweet as honey, and yet with a trace of underlying desire. Crowley groaned into his mouth and it thrilled him. The pair of them shuffled closer, arms slipping around the other, Aziraphale moving to hover above Crowley. They whispered to each other, each one desperately trying to show the other just how beautiful they were, how precious, how much they were appreciated.

"You're mine," Crowley whimpered when they stopped to breathe, and Aziraphale nodded.

"I'm yours. And I want you."

"You have me, angel..."

"You're beautiful."

"You are..."

They tangled each other in their limbs and their hearts, swallowing each other's moans as gulls heralded the dawn. Their tongues slipped into each other's mouths and danced together, and Aziraphale made a noise which he felt ashamed of, until he saw the look of utter adoration on Crowley's face and found he couldn't care less.

They were moving very swiftly, he knew. It was overwhelming and rather terrifying, but he found he couldn't find it within him to complain. He was afraid, but he could see in Crowley's eyes that as long as they were together, he had nothing to fear.

He found he couldn't bring himself to care about the harsh words spoken the previous night - they'd hurt, but the wound was bound and healing. Each swipe of Crowley's tongue over his own soothed it more. He felt safe, protected, luckier than anyone who'd ever come before him. He'd learned about what had hurt Crowley so, and while he knew he didn't have the entire story, it was a start. He knew he could trust him to open up as they got to know each other.

The two of them had a long way to go, Aziraphale reflected as he moved over his wild-eyed lover. But as they kissed until they were drunk and eventually fell asleep holding each other, he found he couldn't wait to make a start.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

:D again!


	8. Catalyst

Aziraphale woke up to a tide of scarlet curls brushing against his face, and at once, he knew he'd never seen a finer morning.

He wasn't entirely sure what had woken him - his stomach growled, which was his leading suspicion (_I suppose I never got around to eating any dinner last night)_, but the room was also filled with brilliant golden light as the sun was finally angled to spill sunlight into his room.

Regardless, he couldn't find the will to move just yet, as much as his belly complained. He nuzzled into Crowley's hair, his arms still wrapped around his waist. He was the perfect little spoon, he decided. He found the very fact that he enjoyed being cradled in this way extremely enjoyable.

Some might have laughed at Crowley for admitting he liked to be held like this, but who were they to ridicule him? Everyone needed support and had their own vices, and if people just went around shaming others for their needs then the world would be a miserable, shameful place.

Aziraphale placed a soft kiss to the back of Crowley's head, and the serpentine man grumbled softly, shifting but not quite waking. His jaw fell open and he quietly snored.

"Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, his voice rising in a sing-song tone which surprised himself. Crowley groaned, a little louder this time, and Aziraphale kissed his angular jaw. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"Not enough sleep," he moaned, nuzzling into his pillow.

"It's at least noon, my dear."

"Ngk..."

Aziraphale chuckled and traced a line of soft kisses up Crowley's jaw to his temple. "Will I have to tempt you up?"

"Wouldn't have thought that to be your scene. You surprise me, angel." Crowley's voice was hoarse and cracking with sleep, and it broke Aziraphale's heart in the best way possible. He shifted to hover slightly above his newfound love, brushing his red mop of hair away from his face so he could lavish it with more gentle kisses. Crowley lay there, a smile spreading across his face and his eyes still firmly shut. He moved his hand to take Aziraphale's, interlocking their fingers and giving his hand a grateful squeeze.

"You're my scene," Aziraphale mumbled, and Crowley's eyes finally opened. They moved to lock with Zira's, and his heart skipped a beat. They both stayed there for a moment, admiring each other, before Crowley pushed himself up onto his elbows to capture Aziraphale's lips with his own. "Ngk," he grumbled again, this time into Zira's mouth. The hoarseness in his voice was very much still present, but the usual edge was slowly returning to his tone. Aziraphale drank it up like nectar.

The two wrestled with each other's mouths for several minutes, drunk on their newfound desire for each other. They lost themselves in each other, occasionally stopping to take breathers, laugh in giddy bliss, and firmly remind the other how much they were desired, needed, _loved_. It was crazy and rapid and shocking, and they both loved it.

After a while, Aziraphale stopped the kiss, giggling as his stomach growled.

"Cr-Crowley, come on. We should eat."

Crowley laughed, throwing his head back at the sound of Zira's empty belly. "Thought you wanted to tempt me."

"Did I not?"

Crowley's eyes were dark and a mischievous grin split his face in two. "Right. Yes, we should eat. Can't have a hungry angel on my watch, can I?" Aziraphale blushed pulled him down, desperate to kiss him again. Crowley evaded his lips, however, instead snaking around to pepper soft kisses up Aziraphale's jaw, just as Aziraphale had done to him minutes earlier. He took it a step further and lightly took his earlobe between his teeth, biting down on it. Aziraphale made a noise that would have made nuns blush, his own cheeks flushing dark red.

"Ah, ah... Crowley, I..." He couldn't say much more than that as Crowley nibbled up his ear, puring like a wild animal. He was a feral jungle cat, a creeping jackal, a snake eyeing up its prey before pouncing, and Aziraphale loved it.

"You like it?" Crowley whispered hoarsely into Aziraphale's ear, and he almost fell apart.

"I..."

"I think you do," he purred. "But if, at any point, you don't enjoy this? You tell me." He paused and lifted his eyes, pinning Aziraphale to the bed with his molten gaze. "Can you do that? I won't ever do anything that you don't want to do. I want to thrill you, make you happy... and I will be decisive if I need to be. Do you understand?"

Aziraphale nodded breathlessly, and Crowley pressed a soft kiss to his lips before backing away and getting up. Aziraphale was flushed, his blood most decidedly not focused in his head, and rather instead somewhere much more south, but he said nothing.

"Time for lunch," Crowley smiled, and he nodded silently, letting his blush fade.

The pair got up and Crowley politely turned away to let Aziraphale dress. Once he was decently clothed, he padded over and slid his arms around Crowley's waist, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades.

"Mine," he grinned, and Crowley snorted, twisting his neck as far as it would go to try and see Aziraphale behind him.

"Yes, yes, all yours," he chuckled. He reached around and playfully tickled Aziraphale's waist, and he jumped away with a squeal.

"Not fair!"

"That's how I roll, sweetheart. Come on, let's get you fed. You didn't even eat last night, did you? You must be starving..."

* * *

Crowley led Aziraphale down to the large hall where the castlefolk had been gathered the previous night for dinner. He ignored the servants laying the table to prepare for the staff lunch and strolled to the back of the room, knocking on a heavy wooden door.

"Ey, Ligur? Got a friend here who needs feeding."

"We all need feeding!" a gruff voice responded. "Piss off."

"Come on, now. He didn't have anything to eat last night."

"Well, that's his own damn fault! Piss-off! Don't make me tell you again."

Aziraphale swallowed uncomfortably and gently took a hold of Crowley's wrist.

"My dear, we should just wait. They'll be serving soon, anyway..."

"Angel, relax. The food'll already be done and waiting, believe me. I just want to make sure we can go eat in privacy. I'll have Newt served as well, so don't worry about him."

"Right," Aziraphale murmured nervously, looking around. He felt like a frightened child following the orders of a rebellious teenager, knowing that he was bending the rules but not quite brave enough to make a decision on whether or not he was alright with it. He felt a slight tickle in his chest at the thought that Crowley would annoy the kitchen staff just for him, especially when he knew he must have worked with them once on his way up to becoming a general, but he found he was mostly just worried about the security of Crowley's hard-earned career when he'd worked so hard to secure a position of respect.

Crowley opened the door a sliver, much to Ligur's disapproval, but he only whispered something out of Aziraphale's hearing range which caused the kitchen staff to go silent, and soon enough both he and a very much stunned 'angel' were walking away, bowls of chickpea and lamb soup in their hands.

"Crowley, how-?"

"Just use your imagination, angel. Everything is fine."

Aziraphale blushed, finding the idea rather flustering. He held his soup bowl in one hand, weaving his other sneakily around the crook of Crowley's elbow. He noticed those golden eyes shifting down to glance at him for a brief second, saw the corner of those lips tilting up in a coy grin, but Aziraphale just chewed on the inside of his cheek and walked with him, staring straight ahead in what was probably a ridiculous-looking attempt at acting natural.

Once they were out of the dining hall and away from any prying eyes, Crowley grinned wider, baring his teeth.

"I thought you said no public shows of affection."

"Oh, th-that was hardly anything inappropriate," Aziraphale stammered. He knew he'd been called out, but he just couldn't hand himself. He couldn't help but want to be close to him.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

"No?"

"Not at all."

The pair descended into slightly nervous giggles. _This must be what they refer to as a 'honeymoon period',_ Aziraphale vaguely thought to himself. He felt totally enraptured by everything his devilish lover said and did, and was utterly delighted at the thought of spending each waking moment by his side.

Crowley led him to a balcony overlooking the sea, Aziraphale assumed on the floor above that where they slept, and there they enjoyed a thoroughly wonderful lunch. Crowley pointed out the various seafowl floating far above as they ate, starting some delightfully flirtatious debates about which was which.

"I swear that's a gull..."

"No, angel, no, it's got a _wedge tail_, it's..."

"Oh, but the length of those _wings..._"

"I'll show you a wingspan."

"Why, General, I could almost think you're spouting euphemisms."

"Ohh, you'd be thinking correctly..."

It was peaceful and pure, and it was theirs.

It was theirs, at least, until a servant burst onto the balcony, gasping for breath.

"General Crowley! Lord Dagon _must_ speak with you!" he stammered, his voice wheezing. He doubled over, slapping both hands onto his thighs as he caught his breath. Crowley swept to his feet, immediately assuming a professional face.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice stern and totally different from the gentle, almost hoarse tones he used with Aziraphale.

"They... the... Li..."

"Calm down," Crowley stepped forwards as he spoke. He looked entirely dangerous, but also entirely on their side. "Breathe."

The servant panted, nodding.

"The... the border guards just returned to the palace, wounded..." he looked up, his face growing pale. "The Light have brought down the Wall."

* * *

Things moved rather quickly from there.

Crowley was pulled away, out of Aziraphale's arms, and into the swirling chaos ensuing soon thereafter. The corridors echoed with frightened wails as the Dark prepared for the possible upcoming war. Families from nearby towns arrived and filtered into the castle, clutching their sobbing childrens' hands tightly as they were ushered away to protection.

Aziraphale was on his own, feeling very much like a deer in the headlights as preparations happened in a whirl around him, until he was grabbed and pulled towards his room by guards, most likely looking to lock him away until they had a clear idea of what was happening next, but he fiercely pulled his hands away.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped. "I need to speak with General Crowley!"

"The General will be preparing his troops for battle," one of the guards explained curtly. His voice cut with acid, and Aziraphale identified hatred and distrust there.

_Of course... I'm from the Light._ The realisation that many probably blamed him for what was happening and so he was to be locked away both for his own protection as well as to make sure he couldn't pull any tricks in such a fragile time. Gritting his teeth, Aziraphale clenched his hands into fists.

"I need to speak to Crowley," he reiterated, turning and pelting down the hall. The guards yelled obscenities after him and his lungs burned as he powered through corridor after busy corridor, but nothing could possibly have prevented him from trying to get to his love. It was newfound and budding, but it was theirs, and it was all Aziraphale really had.

He fled to the front entrance, looking around in desperation, waiting for troops, or anything to approach. He desperately hoped for a flash of red hair to catch his vision, for a glimpse of those fiery serpentine eyes, but nothing came, and he waited helplessly as the crowds slowly filtered out. It wasn't until he heard the tell-tale rhythmic thudding of soldier's boots that he realised they were already on the march.

_I've missed him._

Throwing open the enormous door - or, at least, prying it open with great difficulty and just choosing to _call it_ throwing - he bolted into the main courtyard, where he could see battalions headed out towards the wall. Almost invisible at such a range, at the head of the troops, sat a tall, slender figure atop a horse, with hair burning like fire in the wind. _Crowley._

"I've lost him," Aziraphale choked back a sob, falling to his knees. "I had him for less than a day, and I've lost him."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So sorry for the delay. It's been... a very difficult couple of weeks, filled with illness, stress, and a very intense schedule (which I thought was lightening up but in fact I may be mistaken), and so I've just been doing all I can. I've also been working on another fanfiction project on the side - also centred around good omens, but just a long one-shot rather than a whole series, like this one.

Now we're finally getting into the meat of the story!


End file.
